


Quid Pro Quo

by SuperClark_BatBruce



Series: Alternative Universes [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Desk Sex, Fake blackmail, Filthy, Floating - Freeform, Fondling, Funny, M/M, Mark Kemp lol, Neck Kissing, Office Sex, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, Teasing, Tie Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:05:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7131812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperClark_BatBruce/pseuds/SuperClark_BatBruce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Clark attempts to make Bruce come clean about shady dealings and Bruce convinces Clark not to publish the story... all in good fun as a pre-negotiated roleplay during some downtime.</p><p>This is a standalone piece :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quid Pro Quo

**Author's Note:**

> A roleplay of a roleplay, ha, written by sonxfkrypton and doyoubleedxyouwill!
> 
> The - denotes the switch between writers. ^_^ Enjoy!

Bruce Wayne’s executive assistant, Chelsea, who probably saw her boss a total of one day a week, was understandably gob-smacked to find that a Mr. Clark Kent, whom she’d never seen or heard of, was welcomed into her boss’s office without an appointment. She stared. In fact, a lot of people stared. For today, Mr. Clark Kent was sight to behold. He stormed through Wayne Enterprises like a king taking his castle, head held high, his battered shoulder bag hanging limply against his hip, the ink stain on his tie looking positively angry.

Anyone who saw him would say the same thing. He was a man on a mission. A mission, they all would unanimously agree, was doomed to failure. No one took on Bruce Wayne head-on, not without a tub of aspirin and a bottle of gin to soften their headache. He was lucky enough to find the billionaire, while Bruce was between tropical cruises. Still, it definitely looked like the reporter was going to try his hardest.

The office door had barely opened when he announced, “Mr. Wayne, we need to talk!”

And stormed in.

“Poor guy.” She thought, almost sympathetically. She’d been in the same place not too long ago, right after one of Mr. Wayne’s inexplicable impulse buys nearly sank all of their third-quarter profits, leaving her buried in a mountain of phone calls and memos, all of which were distinctly angry. Her boss had stared at her with big sad eyes until she deflated and ask him what he wanted for lunch. “I give him five minutes.”

Mr. Kent had other ideas.

“I know what you’re doing.” He said, rounding on Bruce with righteous fury. “All these budget cuts, these quality standards you’re ignoring, Wayne Enterprise’s construction project is a teetering safety hazard, and I won’t let it go unchecked. The public has a right to know.”

His glasses were askew as he leered from behind it, and he slammed two dozen files on the CEO’s desk. Then he waited a beat, and another. Dramatic tension at its _finest_  before he whispered. “This could destroy you.”

-

The past week had been unbelievably boring. After the whole US-Government-trying-to-blow-up-the-Watchtower fiasco it seemed like all the baddies in the world were taking a holiday. Not that that was a bad thing, per se, but it certainly meant that the Justice League needed to find ways to entertain themselves. 

And Bruce was sick and tired of team building exercises. 

No matter how excited Diana got about the new organizational leadership techniques she’d found - Bruce was going to kill Alfred for showing her those books - he just could find it in himself to much enjoy the trust exercises, sharing circles, and craft time projects she conjured up. He would have much rather been working on gathering intel while they had the chance but no… no, it was paired up drawing games and survival scenarios. Not the helpful survival scenarios, the ‘If you were stuck on a deserted island’ type scenarios. Apparently calling for a pick up was defeating the purpose of the exercise.

This was how Bruce decided to take things into his own hands. Not with the team, he would still participate - mostly - in their activities, but he wanted some actual fun, quality time with one team mate in particular. More specifically, his team mate’s secret identity. It hadn’t taken much to convince Clark to go along with it, all things considered, and when Bruce heard the man storming in, his smile turned feral.

It was gone the instant Clark breached the doorway and he sat, passive expression on his face, as the man rushed in and nearly shouted at him. It was perfect. The passivity smoothed into a serene sort of smile, the one that Bruce reserved for particularly burdensome colleagues, and he leaned forward in his chair, pressing the intercom button with a defiant finger. He kept his eyes locked on the reporter’s as he spoke, “Chelsea, be a dear and hold all my calls… this might take a while…” 

“Now, Kemp, is it?” Bruce started as he reached for the files and lifted the top cover, glancing at the contents with a bored sort of expression, “I do believe your uhm, “research”, is flawed…” he voice was smooth and unaffected as he flicked the folder closed and stood up, straightening his tie as he rounded the desk, moving like a predatory cat, “Surely you must know about liable laws…” 

-

“ _Kent_ ,” Clark corrected with all the petulance that the Midwest could beat into a farm boy. There was a rather impressive amount. He stood his ground, clapping his hand over Bruce’s on top of his folders, his eyes narrowed into slits. The color was high on his cheek, like he’d actually exerted effort storming all the way to Wayne Enterprise, when they both knew he could jog from the ground to the helipad on the highest floor without breaking a sweat. Clark was just feeling a little… warm.

“Those laws are there for a reason. You and your lawyers can’t just buy a version of them to suit your needs.” He sneered.

Superman was a tall man, and he had no qualms lording his height advantage over certain less gifted individuals, who wore long, billowing capes and pointy ears. Clark Kent however just slouched in on himself further, glaring stubbornly at Bruce’s cashmere-clad shoulder. He poked it for good measure. Tried not to think too much about Bruce’s cologne. “If that’s all you have to say, then I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Wayne. Now, I’m going to get my article to print, and by tomorrow, you’ll have the rest of the world to answer to.”

-

Bruce’s smile, as he came around the corner of his desk, was much like the one before Clark had burst into the office. Wild, untamed but exceedingly calculating. He was enjoying this far too much and Clark’s performance was spot on. 

“Yes, _Kent_ , of course, forgive me… I don’t think you’re going to do that though, Mark…” he murmured as he stepped in close, his hand coming up to the reporter’s cheap tie, thumb idly moving over the ink stain as he sighed, “Surely there’s something I can do for you, hm? Some… way I can convince you not to print the story?”

It was a marvel the way that Clark was able to shrink himself down when he was still so big and tall and Bruce took full advantage of it, making sure he was standing up as tall as he could, tugging lightly on Clark’s tie in a show of dominance. This was much more fun than whatever Diana could come up with and Bruce had it in mind that this might just become a fairly common game between them.

-

“Mr. Wayne, how dare you?” He spat, as furiously as one would curse the devil. The switch happened in the blink of an eye. One moment, Clark was bristling like a wet cat, furious at having his professionalism questioned and his wardrobe mocked. The next, his eyes darkened with barely restrained want, round like quarters as he leaned in, and behind the knot of his tie, his Adam’s apple bobbed delicately as he swallowed. He couldn’t help himself, and his gaze darted lower, catching a glimpse of the wicked curve of Bruce’s plump lower lip. Was that how he looked when he promised his conquests the world? If only for one night.

 _Damn you, Bruce._ And damn his too long tie for not slipping out of those tantalizing fingers when it had the chance. 

His voice softened, lips curling around half-growled syllables. “I’m not here to play your games.” Clark took a step backwards, but he shuddered when his side hit Bruce’s expensive desk, tripping over his own feet. “I can’t be bought.”

-

The look on Clark’s face, Bruce wished the cameras in the office were HD so they’d be able to pick it up, he’d have to get Chelsea on that as soon as possible. Maybe install some other strategically placed cameras so they could go over their _games_ later if they wanted, edit them together like a proper movie. He didn’t think Clark would like that so much, which is precisely why he wanted to do it. 

Bruce stepped forward as Clark stepped back, chuckling low as the reporter hit the desk and tutting quietly. “Why, Mark, whoever said anything about _buying_ you off?” He took a quick step to the left, boxing Clark in against the desk, his eyes gleaming and he pulled hard on his tie, forcing him to move forward as Bruce leaned in so he could whisper in his ear, “Might start with _sucking_ you off… how does that sound?” He paired a low hum with a little grind forward of his hips. 

-

He stumbled forward, bracing himself against the other man’s chest. His legs spread accommodatingly, and he couldn’t help but grind down, his cock hardening against Bruce’s thigh, feeling his heat right against his crotch. 

“ _Clark_.” He corrected with a strangled hiss, because goddamit Clark had standards, standards that did not include him getting off to someone else’s name, but those standards seemed to be rapidly shrinking with every passing second, and it was all Bruce’s fault. Bruce smelled like cedar and citrus, an intoxicating blend that couldn’t quite mask the scent of his skin, and it would be so easy to lean in and lick the sweat off his throat. Clark wanted to tear his fancy suit off, make Bruce cum all over it, and distantly, very distantly, Clark regretted wearing his good slacks today.

“Terrible, that sounds terrible,” he stuttered, stilling his traitorous hips before he ruined everything right there. “You shouldn’t do that, and you shouldn’t… Shouldn’t let me mess up that expensive suit.”

-

“Does it sound terrible?” Bruce asked coyly, one eyebrow arching up gracefully as he wrapped Clark’s tie once around his hand to make sure he couldn’t get away, though they both knew he could in no time at all. The way that Clark’s hips seemed to move on their own, grinding with him, it was definitely a win for Bruce. He thought for a moment that Clark would break the game and he was so proud when the reporter managed to get a hold of himself and continue on.

He hummed quietly as he leaned back slightly, shifting himself so he was able to keep pressed tight to Clark but still slip his hand between their bodies. His gasp wasn’t an act as his hand smoothed over Clark’s growing erection, he was always impressed with Clark’s cock, always. “This doesn’t… part of you doesn’t think it’s terrible…” Bruce swallowed hard, indulging a bit as he leaned in and nipped Clark’s neck.

-

“Mr. Wayne, please…” Clark groaned, long and low, and he tightened his grip on Bruce’s shoulders, just a little. Just to steady himself. He let his head fall back, wordlessly egging Bruce on as he ran a trembling hand down the front of the other man’s shirt. It caught on his buttons, and it took him a second to remember that Clark Kent, Investigative Reporter would not use this method of interrogation. Very generously, he only popped one button open.

“This is… This is so inappropriate.” He slurred around all those syllables in just one word. “I’m going to have to call. Have to call security.”

But he took Bruce’s hand in his own and pressed it against his straining cock, holding it in place as he thrust against him. It wasn’t enough to take the edge off, but Rao it felt good.

“If you stop.”

-

All he could do was make a choked sort of noise, “Jesus, Clark…” Bruce had to break character for a moment, it was too much for him to deal with. The way that Clark rut against his hand, the all too recent memory of his name _Mr. Wayne_ echoing in his head with that _groan_ , “Fuck, say that again… say my name again…”

There really was no going back at this point, Bruce was far too into how Clark was moving against him, the heat from his thick erection ridiculous in his hand. He wanted Clark inside him so badly but he had other plans that were just as delicious. 

He moved a bit, pulling his hand up to get at the button and zipper of Clark’s trousers. While he kept his eyes locked on the reporters, Bruce sunk down slowly to his knees and started to mouth over the line of his erection through the fabric of his boxers. A hungry moan slid past his tongue as he squeezed Clark’s ass, his own pants starting to feel far too tight.

-

“Mr. Wayne?” Clark repeated, like he was still trying to figure out how that name fit on his lips. He was breathing hard, dizzy with lust, but he still tucked that away for later, determined to remember even when everything else fell away in the sweetest mixture of want and need. 

He couldn’t look away from his partner, entranced as Bruce put on a show for him, just one far too sincerely raged to be anything but real. Clark was spilling into his boxers, precum dribbling down soft cotton until his dick stood out against nearly transparent cloth. 

“You’re gonna do it right?” He whispered, voice shot to Hell, but Clark was too far gone to care. He combed his fingers through Bruce’s hair, spoiling the artfully gelled locks. “You’re gonna make me feel so good? I’ll do anything you want. Please? I’ll be so good for you.”

-

Bruce had to chuckle, Clark’s attempt at repeating his name fell far short of the original lascivious exclamation but, oh, it was still music to his ears. He turned his attention to Clark’s leaking cock, humming quietly at the taste of the precum already wetting the front of his boxers. 

“So good, Clark… you’re not gonna be able to _walk_ when I’m done with you…” Bruce mumbled against the skin just above the waistband of Clark’s boxers, knowing the man would be able to hear him, even through the pounding of the blood past his ears. He pulled at Clark’s trousers, yanking them down pass his ass and not wasting any time doing the same with the drenched underwear, his hand immediately wrapping around his solid shaft and stroking lightly. 

Looking up, wanting to see Clark’s expression, Bruce smiled as he leaned in and sucked at the base of his cock. He didn’t even flinch as a gush of precum dripped over his knuckles and onto his cheek only purred greedily and moved to suck at Clark’s balls noisily.

-

That just wasn’t fair.

Clark trembled, down to his toes, leaning back and bracing himself instinctively on Bruce’s desk. He had to be careful or he’d take chunks out of it. Better than giving Bruce bald patches probably, but that was the least sexiest thing to be thinking about, and Bruce had his cock in his mouth. He breathed in slowly, dragging in mouthful after mouthful of cool air, but was too far gone to let any of it go. He could feel Bruce’s sinuous tongue moving against his most sensitive skin, striking through his nerves like a bolt of lightning, his balls felt so much heavier inside Bruce’s mouth. The reporter let out a pitiful keen, shamelessly bucking against his partner, his cock dragging against the length of Bruce’s face, spilling precum down his cheek.

“You. You pose a good argument,” he said, and had to strangle each word just to speak. Clark cracked a smile, his entire body flushed with delight, as he added, “I’m just not convinced?”

-

Bruce snorted as he nuzzled against Clark’s cock, pushing his balls out of his mouth and licking up his length with the flat of his tongue. It was all the answer that Clark was going to get, Bruce didn’t want to waste any more time on the game, as much fun as it was. There were more pressing matters to take care of, like the leaking erection in his pants and Clark’s cheeky grin. If he was still able to make jokes, Bruce wasn’t doing a good enough job.

He licked up Clark’s length twice more, cleaning up all of the excess precum before taking it into his mouth with a little growl. Working his tongue on the underside of the thick shaft, Bruce hummed, taking Clark in deep before pulling back. At the tip, he swirled his tongue around the tip, his own grin peaking through as he stared up at his lover and cocked an eyebrow, “Convinced?” he asked quietly before deep throating him and swallowing around his cock with a filthy choked sort of sound.

-

“Bruce…” Clark hissed, his voice a sultry thing, drowning in frantic want. The plea came unbidden, his legs spreading ever so slightly as he sank into his lover’s tight, wet heat, eyes rolling in his head as he moaned. All that mattered was following Bruce’s tongue down his throat, watching its shape press against the inside of Bruce’s cheek before his lover fucked himself on Clark’s dick. If Bruce demanded a better answer, Clark might cry.

“Cheater,” he accused, head spinning because Bruce voice trembled with effort. He sounded like he was born to be on his knees. His thighs shook on either side of Bruce’s head, struggling to keep still until Clark just couldn’t. “ _Cheater.”_

He pulled out with a sloppy grunt, trailing precum and spittle down Bruce’s jaw before he pulled the other man closer, enhanced strength making the game all the more unfair. Clark couldn’t stop until he got his mouth on him, kissing past swollen, cock-fucked lips, tasting himself on Bruce’s tongue. He ground into his partner, tearing at his clothes the entire time, until he finally, finally had him bare against him, bare where it mattered and Clark spread his legs like a dollar whore.

-

Bruce lived for these moments. Those times when Clark lost control of himself, shaking and, he swore, on the verge of tears. It was beautiful. He let himself be pulled up, not helping one bit so he could revel in Clark’s strength before they were kissing, sloppy and wet. The force of his lover ripping his pants off - he really shouldn’t have worn his McQueen today - obliged Bruce’s arms to wrap tightly around Clark’s shoulders. It anchored him while Clark ripped his belt, tore the expensive fabric open, leaving a wonderful mess that left the important bits free.

Gasping against Clark’s mouth, Bruce rocked his hips forward, rutting shamelessly against the man’s cock. His own precum dripped down his length, mixing with his spit and Clark’s seed making a natural lubricant that slicked their silky cocks. He pulled himself close, so close he could suck on Clark’s tongue like it was his cock and he huffed out a sharp breath when he broke the kiss, cursing himself for needing air.

“Not.. Cheating… He gasped out as he tangled hia fingers in Clark’s hair and hitched a leg over one powerful thigh. Leaning forward, hips slowly circling, Bruce bit Clark’s lower lip and nursed it between his lips as he stared into his lovers eyes before letting go. As a hand came to cup Clark’s cheek, he hooked his other leg up and over so he was straddling his lap, "Not…” not the most reasoned of responses, but he couldn’t help himself.

-

Clark whined when they broke apart, sounding utterly heartbroken even if his lover didn’t go far. He fell back on damning evidence, papers bunching up against his bare thighs, his shirt rumpled in the worst was as he spread out on Bruce’s desk like an offering. Clark hadn’t even taken off his glasses.

“Bruce…” The sound was lost against the teasing twist of his partner’s tongue, and understanding was slow to dawn, even when the answer was staring him quite literally in the eye. Clark gasped in anticipation, shivering despite the heat that pooled between them as he gripped his mate with one hand, slowly guiding him closer. He sat up slowly, craning just far enough that he could press a kiss to Bruce’s chest, tugging his expensive tie between his teeth. His other hand palmed the swell of Bruce’s ass, squeezing supple muscle appreciatively before guiding his cock against him. Precum dribbled between his cheeks, smearing across his flushed skin. Goddamit, Clark had started to hover, and he didn’t even know it.

“Bruce please,” he mewled, licking so greedily at his lover’s mouth. “Please I want you.”

-

In the heat of the moment, Bruce didnt notice the floating. He was so safely planted in Clark’s lap that even with his head spinning with desire as it was, wasn’t enough to make a noticable difference. His hands were at Clark’s shoulders and he grinned at the sight of him with his tie between his teeth, sure that his tailor would have a coniption about that in itself, let alone the torn trousers.

Clark was beautiful like this. So desperate it made everything that much more intense. The feel of his thick cock between Bruce’s cheeks, the hot dribble of precum over his entrance, all of it enough to make Bruce as wanton as Clark.

“You have me…” he breathed out quietly before leaning forward to take Clark’s mouth, relentless in his pursuit of the other’s tongue as his free hand moved back, fingers resting over Clark’s to line him up as he worked his hips gently. There was so much precum they wouldn’t need lube, never had, and it was something that Bruce appreciated deeply. He set the tip of Clark’s length against his tight ring of muscles and pushed himself back with a groan, “Oh god… Clark,” he had to break the kiss, panting against Clark’s cheek as he pushed himself back, one hand still guiding, the other fisting tight into his lover’s shirt to make sure he stayed close, “Fuck, Clark, I love… you inside me…. I.. I love you…."

-

It was the most agonizing perfection, and Clark threw his head back and groaned. He disappeared into Bruce’s tight clutch, inch by excruciating inch, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out, tracing down the crook of his ass so he could feel where they were connected. Bruce gripped him so tightly, stretched out and slick around his cock, and Clark shuddered, giving into the feel of his exquisite heat.

“So good don’t stop,” he begged in a small, needy voice, stretching until he could kiss the hollow of his lover’s throat, his belly clenching with effort as he held the position. Clark ran his hands down Bruce’s chest, savoring the feel of smooth silk over chiseled pecs and then across his broad shoulders. He was flushing all the way down his chest as he ground into him, rolling his hips just enough that his cock strained inside his mate. He could meet Bruce’s eye like this, those sharp, intense blues gone soft with want but still as vibrantly eager. He pressed a kiss to his partner’s lips, barely more than a touch, so sweetly chaste after everything they’ve done and whimpered.

“Show me?”

-

The simple kiss, as virtuous as Clark Kent pre Bruce Wayne, coupled with such a needful whine sent a shock of desire through Bruce that made him shiver at his core. He let out a breath, one hand moving to the back of Clark’s neck for leverage as he nodded and grinned.

He started out slow, just circling his hips around and around, getting a thorough feel for the girth of Clark inside of him. He kept his eyes on Clark as much as he could as he moved, a light sheen of sweat breaking out over his skin as he pushed himself up a few inches by pressing his shin against the desk. Bruce’s other hand came around to grab the front of Clark’s shirt, a bit more leverage, as he pushed down hard, bring Clark into him until he was fully seated in his lap. The force of it drew out a low groan and he threw his head back as he started to fuck himself with abandon.

-

Bruce was overwhelming, commanding him with the simplest touch. Clark was the most powerful man on the planet, and all he could do was hold on. He kept his hands on his partner’s hips, surrendering under the tantalizing twist of his body, his mouth falling open in a choked plea. He felt Bruce quivering beneath his fingers, watched the way his chest heaved with every breath, muscles coiling and tensing beneath his shirt. It was the most obscene show and Clark had a first row seat.

He was so close, so achingly close, every second they were together stoked his want, dragging him close to the edge of release. Bruce was _using_  him, taking everything he wanted without the faintest warning, and it was the hottest thing Clark had ever seen.

“Bruce, Bruce please…” He babbled, grip tightening unintentionally, just enough to leave bruises like fingerprints across his lover’s skin, and Clark would be so apologetic later, but now he could barely remember how to breathe. “I’m going to - I’m going to…” 

He came with a groan, painting Bruce with thick white ropes and leaving him utterly filthy.

-

Bruce could feel Clark building to his release, he could hear it in his begging and see it on his face, clear as the sun that gave the hero his strength. He worked himself faster, squeezing tightly around Clark’s cock to help him come. Angling himself just right, Bruce made sure that each stroke in smoothed across his prostate, building himself up as well and, with Clark’s choked groan and hot come filling him up, it took only two more thrusts for Bruce to come hard.

“Clar-…” he couldn’t even get Clark’s full name out before his body tensed up, muscles quivering with bliss as he grabbed his own erection to stroke himself through his orgasm. White coils of his semen spurted out over Clark’s shirt and Bruce didn’t stop until he couldn’t hold himself up any more, slumping forward against Clark, utterly spent and panting for breath against his lover’s shoulder, too worn out to even start thinking about cleaning up.

After a few steadying breaths, Bruce turned his head just enough to be able to murmur into Clark’s ear, his lips smiling, “Do… do all your interviews end this way?”

-

They landed on Bruce’s desk with an audible thump that left Clark flushed all the way to his ears. He groaned under his breath, screwing his eyes shut, and he was just tired enough to try and will away the rest of the world instead of facing what had happened. He laid their limply, hugging his lover close, his legs dangling off the edge of the table. His neck was going to ache later, but Clark just couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Then Bruce had to ruin everything. He let out a bark of surprised laughter, and patted Bruce’s hip affectionately. A giddy, relieved smile crossed his features, and it struck Clark then, just how lucky he was to have his best friend like this. His completely terrible best friend. Rao, he was a lucky man. “Every single one of them.”

He turned to face Bruce, bumping their noses together, and whispered, “See? You’re too hard on Dina. Role play’s great.”


End file.
